


A Long Way From Home

by campsearchlight



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campsearchlight/pseuds/campsearchlight
Summary: When Wesley Donahue moves to Stardew Valley, he isn’t quite sure what he’s gotten himself into. The ordeal of overhauling his late grandfather’s farm, making new friends where he has none, and figuring out if the guy skateboarding around town likes him—Wes has more than enough on his plate.
Relationships: Abigail & Sam & Sebastian (Stardew Valley), Sam/Player (Stardew Valley)
Kudos: 4





	A Long Way From Home

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure where this is going but I’ve been sitting on this for a while and finally decided to post it. Hope you like it!
> 
> As usual, I can be reached @campsearchlight on tumblr! Thanks for reading.

Wes pulled his heavy suitcase behind him down the dirt road, sweating and cursing the whole way. The cab ride here had taken two hours, and the driver had been less than friendly when he found out how far out of Zuzu City they were going. He’d deposited Wes at a decrepit bus stop an indeterminate distance from the farm, forcing Wes to walk until he found the place. 

A rocky start to such a new and frightening chapter to Wes’s life, but he refused to let anything stop him now. 

Finally, about a mile down the road, the looming trees broke into a wide swath of land clogged with tall grass and errant shrubs. The farm really had gone to shit after Gramps passed. 

Wes trudged up the uneven path. Halfway to the small cabin at the tree line, one of the suitcase’s wheels caught on a rock. 

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he hissed, wrestling with the suitcase to get it dislodged. 

“Whoa! Now, that’s a Donahue mouth if I’ve ever heard one!”

Wes turned toward the voice and saw a plump, middle-aged woman picking her way through the weeds. He hoped he hadn’t offended her, but, as she drew closer, he made out the grin on her kind, rosy-cheeked face. 

“You must be Marnie,” he said, recognizing her from the vague description she’d given of herself over the phone some weeks ago. He reached out a hand to her. 

She put her calloused hand in his soft one and shook it firmly. “Sure am. And you’re Wesley Donahue.”

“I’ve been known to be, yes.” He looked up at the cabin. “You don’t happen to have the key to this place, do you?”

“Should be under the mat,” she said, walking past him. She climbed the steps to the porch as Wes finally wrenched his suitcase free. “Here you are!” She held out a brass key to him when he joined her on the porch. 

“Ah, awesome. Thank you.” He turned the key, and the pair went inside. 

The cabin consisted of exactly two rooms. There was the main room—consisting of a refrigerator, a foot of counter space beside a small sink, a hot plate, a table and chair, a worn chest of drawers, a fireplace, and a twin bed pushed into the corner next to a small rabbit-ear television—and then there was a water closet. It was just how he remembered it from his sparse visits as a kid, except it seemed so much smaller. 

“Well,” Marnie said from the doorway, her hands tucked into the pockets of her green smock, “it ain’t much, but I’m sure it’ll do you just fine ‘til you can afford to fix it up.”

Wes regraded the TV with disdain. “Uh, yeah. Looks just fine to me.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled. But, if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call or even come down and see me. You remember the way to my ranch, don’t you?”

He accepted the paper from her and went to put it on the fridge with the single, bare magnet there. “Near the edge of the forest, right?”

“That’s right. And I _would_ say good luck with all this, Wesley, but I have a feeling you won’t need any.” She beamed at him, then took her leave, closing the door behind her. 

Wes hauled his suitcase onto the bed, and it groaned at the weight. He hesitated, then carefully took it off. The suitcase weighed less than he did, so he hoped the bed wouldn't collapse when he went to sleep. 

He kneeled at the foot of the bed and unzipped his suitcase. The first thing to come out was a framed photo carefully wrapped in one of his t-shirts. The photo was of ten-year-old him, his mom, and Gramps. The trio was sitting on the porch of this very cabin, smiling brightly as the moment was captured. 

He stood and looked around, wondering where he should place it. There wasn’t much by way of surface area, so he he placed the frame on the dresser, angling it just so. He stood there for a minute, his hands on his hips, and then he started to unpack.

* * *

Wes gave himself the rest of the day to settle in. He cleaned the cabin with the few cleaning supplies underneath the sink in the kitchen. Eventually, he would go into town to buy some more heavy-duty products. But, for now, the place was mostly dust-free, and that was fine by him. 

By the time the sun began to set, Wes realized he hadn’t brought anything with him to eat. It seemed a trip into town was necessary. So, he locked up behind him and set off down the road again, using his phone’s flashlight to light the way. 

Soon, the flashlight was no longer needed as the dirt road gave way to the cobblestone plaza. He recalled the basic layout of the town as he passed by the clinic and the general store. The Stardrop Saloon was just across the way from them, and he stepped inside. 

Some ballad from the forties crooned out of the jukebox to the left of the bar. Wes glanced along the length of the bar and found only one person sitting at it. He avoided the man, who was nursing a frothy beer, in favor of a seat at the end of the bar, near the adjoining billiards room. 

The bartender, a graying man in his fifties, came up to Wes. “Hey, there. I don’t remember seeing you around.”

“Wes Donahue,” Wes said, shaking the man’s hand. “New owner and proprietor of Donahue Farm.” 

The bartender whistled lowly. “Good on you, kid. Name’s Gus. What can I get for ya?”

“Um...” Wes glanced over the laminated menu. Figuring he should try to be frugal with the hefty sum of cash Gramps had left him to start the farm back up, he ordered a plate of spaghetti and a cheap beer. 

It was as he was slurping up some noodles that the door to the bar opened again. Glancing behind him, he saw two guys enter. They seemed to be polar opposites of each other. One had dark hair flopped over his eyes, dressed in a black hoodie pushed up to his elbows and jeans; the other had blond hair pushed back from his forehead, dressed in a hot pink t-shirt and light jeans, ripped at the knee. 

Wes didn’t let his gaze linger for long, because he had the distinct feeling that his mouth was red with sauce, and, oh, Yoba, how embarrassing to meet new people around his age with a saucy mouth. Wes took up his paper napkin and wiped some condensation from his pint glass. 

“Hey, Gus,” the blond one called, leaning his elbows on the edge of the bar not too far from Wes. “Two colas, please.” He glanced at Wes, who was in the middle of scrubbing his mouth with his damp napkin. 

Wes froze when their eyes met. 

The guy smiled. “You’re new.”

_Oof_. He had a nice smile. 

“Kinda,” Wes replied. “I’m Wes.”

“Sam.” He looked over his shoulder at his friend, who was tapping idly at his phone. “That’s Sebastian. Say hi, Seb.”

“Hi,” Sebastian said without looking up. 

Gus slid too glasses of soda to Sam. “Starting a tab, Sam?”

“Sure. And add him to it, too.” Sam nodded in Wes’s direction. 

Gus nodded and went about cleaning up the bar with a towel. 

Secretly, Wes thrilled at the gesture, however simple it was. Outwardly, he smiled politely. “That’s really nice of you, but I wouldn’t want to take advantage of a stranger.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam handed a glass to Sebastian. “But, hey. Nice to meet you.”

Wes lifted his beer. “You, too.”

Sodas in hand, the pair went off to the billiards room. 

It took a fair amount of willpower to keep from looking over at the boys playing pool. He finished his meal, left a good tip, and caught Sam’s eye as he turned away from the bar. He waved and said, “Thanks again.”

Sam simply waved back. 

Wes took a leisurely pace home, savoring the coolness of the air after the sunset. Tomorrow, the work would begin. As for tonight, it was all his. 

He decided to spend some time fidgeting with the antennas on the TV. The news just barely made it through, marred by static. His ministrations were of no use. He would absolutely _have_ to invest in a better TV. 

With a resigned sigh, he flopped down on the bed, only realizing a second too late that he should have been more ginger in his approach. The wooden frame cracked and gave way. The box spring hit the floor with a loud thunk. It seemed he would also have to invest in a new bed. 

He gasped at the impact and laid there in shock before bursting into tears that had been threatening to spill over since he had made the decision to come to Stardew Valley.


End file.
